


In Dean's Head

by justanotherbusyfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherbusyfangirl/pseuds/justanotherbusyfangirl
Summary: Dean's getting fucked just perfectly, he has to know who's doing it.





	In Dean's Head

The slick slide of flesh on flesh is marvelous, Dean’s hole getting stretched with each thrust of hips.  He’s holding himself up with his forearms, but his legs are spread so wide he may as well just lay down completely.  The heavy body behind him is strong, just the way he likes it.

‘Cause hell, here in Dean’s dreams he doesn’t hide the fact that he likes to be dommed a little bit.

“More,” he grunts to the sheets below his face, and hands grip his hips tighter.  The next thrust is deeper, cockhead skimming the place inside of him that lights his nerves on fire.  Dean collapses then, burying his face into his hands as his mouth babbles incoherently, praising the man for taking him just right.

It’s too perfect, he thinks.  The cock, the strength, the push-and-pull.  It’s too perfect and Dean needs more.

His cock is pressed against the bed beneath him, tucked between his stomach and the mattress.  It’s leaking precome all over, making the sheets wet and warming him to the core.  He knows he’s close, he knows he can come just from the prostate stimulation, when it’s just right.

And this guy that’s fucking him, he’s doing it just right.

“Lemme flip over,” Dean says, suddenly needing to see who it is that’s fucking him into oblivion.  This guy is a god in bed, and Dean needs to know who it is.

The cock is out of his ass and hands are turning him over, but Dean’s eyesight is blurry for a minute from the pleasure.  It isn’t until he’s been folded in half, strong hands pushing his knees up by his ears, and the cock is back in his ass that he can focus on who’s fucking him.

Bright blue eyes are trained on his face, and Dean realizes that this big, strong, amazing fucker is Castiel.  Angel of the Lord, Dean’s best friend, the awkward angel – Cas.

When the fuck did Castiel learn how to fuck like _this_?

That’s the last coherent thought that Dean has before Castiel is pounding into him again, the change in position allowing him to grind on Dean’s prostate with each push of his hips.  It’s all Dean can do to hold on to his own legs, his cock bobbing between them happily.

Just a little further, just a few more thrusts…

Dean’s coming all over his stomach, painting himself white as Castiel fucks him through his orgasm.  It goes and goes until Dean is nearly crying and then Castiel is coming inside of him and Dean’s spent cock spurts a bit more, loving the feeling of being full and wanting to show it.

It’s only when Castiel stills, then finally pulls out of Dean that he feels like he’s floating.  He closes his eyes, trying to ground himself, and then suddenly he’s cold.

His eyes open and it’s dark; Castiel is gone.  Dean sits up and realizes that he’s wearing a t-shirt and boxers – boxers that are completely soaked with his own spunk.  He looks to the side, realizing that he’d just woken up.

His clock reads 3:02 am.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Dean mutters, his fingers picking at the ruined fabric of his boxers.  “Gross.”

“Dean, I’m here now – you were praying so hard.”

Dean whips his head up to see Castiel (the _real_ Castiel) standing at the foot of his bed – is that amusement on his face?

“Cas, now is _not_ the time!” Dean practically yells, covering his lower half up with the blanket, cause fuck, at this point he’s gonna have to wash sheets and clothes to get all the fluids off.

Castiel smiles.

“Just let me know when you would like to talk about…your dream,” Castiel says before he’s gone.

Just exactly _how much_ did Castiel just see in Dean’s head?


End file.
